


You're a Doll

by Doctorinblue



Series: Why Am I Like This? [3]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Frank does his doll, Other, That's it, You've been warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21836875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctorinblue/pseuds/Doctorinblue
Series: Why Am I Like This? [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1021503
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	You're a Doll

He's still awake, his skin hot and sticky while Pierce and Hunnicutt sleep away their booze-filled evening. He's cramped back into his little corner, instead of his own tent, or, at the very least, Margaret's tent. Sweet, lovely, Margaret. She's angry about something or other, off proving a point, but she'll come back around. Not soon enough, he reasons. His skin crawls, and he fights back a shiver that seems to radiate ding dong outwards.

It's been too long since someone's saluted his stick. He has needs too. It's not fair. No one would guess looking at his cool exterior but he's a man too.

He rolls onto his side. It's late and early, and he could probably slip his hand past his waistband if he were one to do such lowly things. Or sneak off for a late-night shower and take care of his war hammer in peace.

He flops again, and he's certain if he doesn't do something to release the pressure he'll go off like a tea kettle. Only with his pickle.

He stares up at his shelf, at the picture of his mother. Even her angelic face can't ease the unfortunate engorgement inside his pants. Next to her picture, sitting there like a tiny wooden beacon of hope is the doll. The MacArthur one that Pierce brought back to him as a joke. But it's actually quality material, the clothes rough and the hair soft, and Pierce probably spent at least a few dollars on it, too. He couldn't throw it away at the time, and now he thinks he understands why.

He grows a little stiffer and swallows roughly. He's not like _that_. He's just lonely. Everyone gets lonely, even great men like him and the general. Especially great men like them. He leans up slowly, slides his boots on and glances to the other half of the tent. By some mercy, the two trouble makers remain asleep. Frank snatches the doll off the shelf and moves out of the tent. 

He's not really thought this far ahead, glances left and right. No sentinel in sight. Klinger might be a complete disgrace to the uniform, but he probably would recognize an erection if he saw one. The pervert.

The supply shed! He hurries off for it, the doll clutched tightly in his overly sweaty palms. He's not excited about this, of course. Just...nervous. And the doll isn't an object of lust at all...just inspiration...no...company! The doll is company in place of a warm body. Nothing wrong with that. Great men get lonely.

He shuts the door behind him, shuffles his way to the back of the shed where those perverts have set out a cot for this very purpose. Well, maybe not this very purpose... He settles down onto the cot and runs his fingers down the doll slowly. It's not anatomically correct, no surprise there, but he can't help but wonder what he might find if he did the same to the real MacArthur. Frank almost wheezes, the thought out before he can shove it back to its special place.

The doll. Focus on the doll. Dolls didn't count. They weren't men or women. They were nothing. It didn't matter at all if he wanted to run his helmeted warrior over it.  
Carefully, barely daring to breathe, he undresses the doll. It lacks detail here, underneath the clothes. The body is wooden and smooth though. Little cheeks are rounded out at the bottom of the back. Frank runs his fingers over the tiny man mounds.

His mind leaves the doll and falls onto Pierce. He swallows, puts the doll down beside him and fumbles with his pants until he can release his frosting blaster from its confines. If only Pierce knew what he was doing to his gift. That's right, he justifies, as he scoops the doll back into view. This is simply destroying the gift from his rival, if not flat out enemy. He's really obligated to do this, anyway he thinks about it. 

The first stroke feels like heaven. It feels like being promoted and having Margaret give him that look, the special one, all at once. The second is somehow better.

His fingers fumble for the doll again. He rubs the little buns. His hands perk up, as does his pant dog. He pauses, licks up his palm. Salty. When he returns to self pound town, he finds himself right there on the edge. He'll topple over soon enough, smudge his man juice into the dirt, and go back to pretending he's never heard of this new thing called sex. 

He's fairly sure people buy it. 

He loses himself in the moment of bliss, squeezing the doll so hard its legs break off. He feels them drop into his lap and when he opens up his eyes he finds that he's no longer alone and that Colonel Potter's eyes dart from the doll to his lap and back to the dark spot above Frank's head.

"Sir," Frank says, hand still wrapped around his wilting man root. "I can explain."

Potter looks down at his freshly iced boots, and lets out a sigh from a deep place that Frank's never heard. Not even with the boys, and that's hardly fair. 

"Burns. You'll pay for this."


End file.
